William, 1880
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Dark Horse comics. This story contains vampires being vampires, and spoilers through season seven.
He killed everyone at that party, of course.
They stayed at his house in London for a few weeks, although he'd have rather moved on. But it was large and elegant, and it had, as Angelus liked to point out, hot and cold running maid servants.
William found it a bit unseemly to eat the help. Father always used to say there were certain things a gentleman should never do with a serving girl, and although he had not, perhaps, been referring specifically to eating, he felt that it qualified, nonetheless. Although Creatures of the Night possibly did not need to aspire to gentlemanly standards of conduct.
It had not been strictly civilized behavior to kill Doctor Gull the moment he showed up on the doorstep to check on Mother. He d been quite ready to snap the useless old fop's neck, but Druscilla suggested they bind him with bed sheets and bleed him like leeches.
The old white beard's fear had been intoxicating. He screamed like a woman, so loudly that William's demon face chuckled,
"My, my. Whatever will the neighbors think?" At which point Druscilla gazed at him, her pupils huge in the slits of her eyes beneath her glowering serpentine brow--he was working on an epic poem about her--and said, "Don t worry, luv. I killed the neighbors."
So thoughtful, she was.
***
A constable did come by later, but Darla ate him, and that was the end of that.
***
It was a week later that he bumped into Montague Grey on the street outside a fancy steakhouse where he and Dru were planning to order their meat very rare and then eat the chef for dessert if they were displeased.
"I have hopes it may prove my best composition yet," William was saying as he helped his Raven Lady alight the curb. "I've worked out a delightful series of lines that rhyme reflections unseen/eyes serpentine and darkest queen."
"Good Lord!" exclaimed a voice over his right shoulder, booming in that obnoxious old chap across the cricket pitch tone, "is that William the Bloody?"
"Mon-ta-gue," he answered, plotting death with every syllable. "How providential that we should cross paths this fine evening."
Montague smiled that stupid toothy aristocratic smile of his and then raked his eyes over Druscilla. "And who is your lovely dark queen, was it?" Dropping his voice to a whisper, he continued in a conspiratorial tone, "Really, William, you re not supposed to bring back alley girls promenading in this part of town."
"What did you call her?" He glanced at Dru, who was twining her fingers together and muttering ominously about mutton chops tasting like lamb.
"That is to say a lady of the night -"
William's hand slapped him so suddenly that Montague spun face first into a brick wall before he could finish that thought.
"I should rip out your tongue for slander!" William growled, and as he felt the demon strength surging through him, he felt he could rip the stupid ponce's tongue right out of his head.
"What the devil -- are you challenging me?" Montague asked in jocular astonishment. "Shall I bring my dueling pistols or my swords?"
William grabbed him by his coat lapels and pulled him into an alley. "Bring them both," he said as he switched to his vampire face and ripped out his enemy's throat.
***
Afterward, he found a broken bottle and used a jagged shard of glass to cut out Grey's tongue. He gave it to Dru as a token of his love.
***
Darla loved to flip through the cards left on the silver tray in the hall. "People are so courteous," she said. "All these invitations to call."
One morning, she tossed him an announcement that Edward Archer and Harriet Langham were to be married, and he was cordially invited to attend the engagement party.
Harriet had included a brief handwritten note as well.
"Dear William, we would be most pleased if you would favor us with a poem to commemorate this happy occasion."
He remembered how they'd laughed at him at the Underwoods, knew they were eagerly anticipating a repeat performance. Mr. and Mrs. Vulgarian, he thought, as he scrawled a hasty note telling them he'd be delighted.
He arrived at the Archer home just after sunset. The lovebirds were talking quietly together on the settee. "William," she trilled. "Have you written something for us?"
"Why yes," he answered quietly, pulling a rail road spike from beneath his coat. "Your epitaph."
***
"Tell me," he asked Harriet, moments beforehe shattered Edward's skull, "What do you think is the best rhyme for dead bridegroom? Ladies in a swoon? Slanting. I don't know."
Tears ran down her cheeks. Gave the blood a nice salty taste
***.
The murders received so much press, it seemed like the purest good manners to venture out in the gray drizzle to attend the funerals. Killing pall bearers one by one until the grieving Archer matriarch turned to him with pleading eyes, "William, would you be so kind..." That was just funny.
***
He waited on Cecily. She had been his muse, after all. That required a certain amount of respectful degradation.
First, he killed the Underwoods. Let Dru take care of the household staff, and Angelus posed everyone all proper around the dinner table.
He was skulking across the street, just outside the dim pool of light from the gas lamp, and he watched as Cecily's carriage pulled up, back from the latest evening party.
He snapped the neck of the driver all quick and efficient as she headed up the walk to the door. She must have thought it odd when no servants came to answer the door. But she let herself in.
It was only minutes before her screams were loud enough to reach the streets.
She ran down the walk, skirts flying - saw the dead coachman, gave a high pitched shriek in the midst of her sobbing and then fled off towards the figure of the constable patrolling on the corner.
Of course, the fact that he was Angelus, at first patting her arms and whispering soothing words before changing into his vampire face and grabbing her roughly just made her scream louder.
Until William rode up on a stolen white horse and shouted, "Unhand the lady, you brigand!"
And then he smacked Angelus across the face--though the poofter dived for the pavement before he really connected--lifted Cecily across his saddle and rode off into the night.
"William," she gasped. "The Underwoods -- they're -- slaughtered round the dinner table -- and that man -- his face --"
"Fiends," William murmured. "But dearest, you're safe now."
"Oh yes," she sighed, clutching his chest. "You made the bad man go away."
He carried her, fainting, up the stairs of the nearest nice hotel.
He didn't think about turning her. He doubted he'd ever turn anyone again. He thought of the organdy dress she had been wearing when he first saw her. The flowers on the sash. He remembered how she looked, all flush from dancing, though never with him.
He laid her gently on the bed and brushed a lock of hair from her eyes.
When she came to, she kissed him. Hungrily.
He couldn't decide between ravishing her or biting her. Both seemed quite romantic. Then he decided that he shouldn't have to choose.
But when he transformed his features to show his demon face, she pulled back from him and laughed.
At first, he thought she'd gone mad. Then her face changed into something veiny and unspeakable and he thought he'd gone mad instead.
"Oh. well played," she said, clapping with glee.
"What - what are you?" he gasped."
"Vengeance demon," she replied.
"But -- you re the Underwoods ward -- you ve just debuted this season."
"Oh my darling," she exclaimed. "You are too precious for words!" Fanning herself delicately she continued. "Lord Underwood had a little bastard daughter that he simply abandoned on a convent doorstep in France. Didn't want a scandal, you know. Well, the little cherub wished for a bit of vengeance. I had this whole plan where his youngest daughter was developing an opium addiction and his oldest was sleeping with a penniless Belgian, but having them all dead works just as well. And now the bastard girl may even inherit, so all's well that ends well."
"But," William stammered. "But, I was going to bite you!"
"Oh please," she said dismissively. "You may be a vampire, but you're still beneath me."
His rage washed over him, boiling under his cool skin. He made to tackle her a moment before she teleported away."
"That's cheating," he cried out to the empty room.
He murdered every single person in the hotel. Guests, bell hops, clerks. He didn't even drink from most of them. No reason to be a glutton. But it was still too easy. All the humans were so soft and squashy. He could rip out their hearts with a single good punch.
It was the aristocracy, he decided, breeding the violence out of people.
He walked out of the building filled with corpses and spent the rest of the night hunting down anyone who had ever known him as William. His nanny, his tailor, his old school chums, the newsboy on the bloody corner.
When they were all glassy eyed and rotting, he announced that William was dead.
"That's rather the point of being a vampire," Darla reminded him.
"You're Spike, now." Druscilla cooed."
"Yeah," he said, liking the sharp forceful sound of it. "That'll do. Spike."
***
When Reginald Wyndham-Pryce of the Watcher's Council finally found someone alive to give a statement, Miss Cecily Addams told him through tears and a trembling lip about the hotel massacre.
"His name is William," she whispered. "William the Bloody."